


flowers for mourning

by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Funerals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, spoilers for blue lion route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 03:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfRage/pseuds/SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife
Summary: There are two constants in Felix's life: funerals and Sylvain.





	flowers for mourning

Felix doesn’t cry at Glenn’s funeral.

He’s numb to them by now. There was the state funeral for Dimitri’s parents, the funeral for all of the knights who died in his father’s service, and now the funeral for his brother.

His brother is dead. Felix will never see him again.

He stares up at the sky, a blindingly bright blue, and his eyes water from how bright it is. Hopefully that will be close enough to tears to satisfy his father.

“Felix?”

He closes his eyes. His father, he already knows, will never be satisfied with him.

He feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. It’s heavy. He wants to shrug it off, to run away from his father and never come back, but they’re standing side-by-side in front of a sea of mourners clad in black. He breathes, tries to think about nothing, and looks up at his father’s face.

Rodrigue is crying, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He never looks away from Glenn’s casket. He doesn’t look at Felix, not even once. He hasn’t looked at Felix since before Glenn died.

Felix stops waiting for him to turn. He looks away.

Ingrid hasn’t stopped crying either. Before Glenn died, Felix had never seen Ingrid cry. Even when she fell down and tore her knee open when they were children, she had refused to let Felix, Dimitri, and Sylvain to see her cry. She’d walked all the way home, blood soaking through her tights and dripping into her shoe, and she hadn’t shed a single tear.

But now she’s standing on Felix’s other side, dressed in dark clothes that make her look too pale and holding a handkerchief to her eyes. It makes sense that she’s upset. Glenn was her fiancé, after all. It feels like a very grown-up thing, to have a dead fiancé. She seems too young for it. 

Dimitri is standing beside her, a blue mantel over his black clothes. He doesn’t look human. His eyes are wild, his teeth bared. He looks like a rabid beast. Felix doesn’t even try to fight his flinch when he looks over at him. He hasn’t been able to look at Dimitri without flinching since before the royal family died.

The space next to Dimitri is empty. Sylvain is nowhere to be found.

Felix stares down at his shoes as Glenn’s coffin is lowered into the earth. He tries not to think, to let the funeral happen around him, to ignore the people who insist that Felix’s brother died with his honor, like a true knight.

He bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds and feels so hollow he suspects a gust of wind would snatch him away.

* * *

“There’s a knight I know who’s looking for a squire.” Rodrigue says. “He’s coming by the house tomorrow.”

There’s an order in the words, even if it isn’t explicitly stated.

The funeral is done. They’ve returned to a house that feels too big without Glenn inside of it and are standing in the entryway together. Felix is staring at his father. Rodrigue is looking through him, past him, like if he looks hard enough Glenn will reappear.

Felix wants to ask if he can stay no, if he can stay home instead and learn how to be anything other than a knight. He thinks about Dimitri with his animal eyes and bared teeth, about Ingrid’s tears, about a sea of people all dressed in black. He doesn’t want to be lowered into the ground at 17, having died for nothing of substance.

Instead of saying any of that, he nods without looking at his father. Maybe death will be worth getting away from his father’s heavy eyes, being able to avoid seeing the disappointment every time he looks at Felix and sees all the ways he’ll never measure up to Glenn.

That night, Felix packs up what he wants to bring with him (his best cloak, his gloves without any holes, a Goddess pendant his mother gave him) and sits on his bed, staring at the wall. His friends won’t know he’s leaving until he’s already gone.

He thinks of Ingrid’s tears, Dimitri’s beastial stare, Sylvain’s absence. Will any of them even notice?

He sits on his bed for a while, staring at the wall and not thinking about much at all, until he hears a tap on his window. He jumps up, surprised, and goes to the window. He lives on the ground floor and by now he knows how to loosen the window and slip out easily. He does, going from the warmth of his room into the chill of the garden outside of his window.

“Felix?” A voice hisses and Felix whirls around, alarmed. For a wild moment, he imagines that it’s Glenn, come back to scold him. He imagines that Glenn will demand to know why Felix didn’t cry as they lowered his casket into the earth.

Felix doesn’t have any answers for him. He doesn’t have any for himself, either.

But it’s not Glenn standing there in the garden. Felix blinks, lets his eyes adjust, and he can make out Sylvain standing between the mostly dead flowers, his red hair washed out to silver in the moonlight. There’s dirt smudged on his cheek.

“Sylvain? ” Felix hisses. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize.” Sylvain says. “For not being at the funeral today.”

“Oh.” Felix doesn’t know what to say to that. He leans down and tugs at a branch hanging off of the dying plants in the garden. No one has really bothered with the garden for years, leaving it to overgrow and then die every winter.

Sylvain’s house is more than half a day’s ride away. He must have left hours ago to get here, before the sun even set.

“Why weren’t you there?” Felix asks and his voice sounds whiny and thin. He snaps the branch and straightens up.

“My father didn’t want me to go.” Sylvain says, tugging at his sleeve. “He said there might be assassins there.”

“At a funeral?” Felix snorts.

Sylvain shrugs. “He’s the paranoid one, not me.”

Sylvain is the only child of Gautier with a Crest, the only child who is important. Felix wonders but does not ask if Miklan was in the crowd today.

Sylvain is looking at Felix with his head tilted to one side, eyes on Felix’s face. “Are you okay?”

Felix doesn’t know if he’s okay or not. But he doesn’t want Sylvain to know that, so he just looks at the ground. It’s covered in dead and dying leaves.

“I’m leaving.” Felix says.

“What?” Sylvain’s eyes go wide. “Leaving...what do you mean? Felix, I know you’re upset about Glenn, but you can’t run away.”

“I’m not.” He says. He had considered it, honestly, but his father is powerful and Felix has a Crest. He wouldn’t get far before someone spotted him and told his father. “My father contacted a knight who needs a squire. I leave to start training tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Sylvain repeats and Felix nods. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?”

“As long as my father can justify, I suspect.” Felix says and the words taste bitter.

“Your father loves you.” Sylvain says. “He’s just sending you for training. He’ll want to have you back as soon as he can.”

“He doesn’t.” Felix says, sharp and sure. “He told me he doesn’t.”

“He wouldn’t say that…”

“He did!” Felix snaps. “He looked at me and he told me he wished I would have died instead of Glenn!” The memory hits him all at once, the way his father’s face was screwed-up in pain, the way he screamed the words at Felix, the way his eyes looked through Felix instead of at him. It makes his throat tight to think about, his body tensing as if bracing for a physical blow.

Sylvain winces. “Felix...he didn’t mean that. He was just upset about Glenn.”

“It’s fine.” Felix folds his arms over his chest. “He can hate me. I don’t care.”

“Felix…”

Felix takes a moment to look up and meet Sylvain’s eyes.

Sylvain has big brown eyes and messy red hair and the ability to make any person he meets like him. There are bruises on his arms today, big and splotchy and, if you really look, the vague shape of a man’s hand.

Sylvain is always bruised somewhere. He always laughs it off, insists that he’s clumsy. Felix knows that isn’t the truth. He’s met Miklan, Sylvain’s Crestless, disinherited older brother, and has seen the hatred in his eyes. He knows where Sylvain gets his bruises.

“I need to get some sleep.” Is all he says aloud.

“Yeah.” Sylvain reaches out a hand towards Felix like he might touch his shoulder or his face, but he lets it fall between them instead, motion awkward and unfinished. He rubs the back of his neck. “You probably do.”

“Come inside.” Felix offers him a hand.

Sylvain smiles wryly and shakes his head. “I didn’t tell my father I was coming here. He’s probably already torn up the whole estate looking for me.” He glances away, over the hills towards where his home is. “I need to go.”

“Okay.” Felix doesn’t argue. “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, night Felix.” Sylvain says softly. “Safe travels.”

Felix turns back towards his still open window and moves to climb through.

“Felix?”

Sylvain’s voice stops him. He looks back over his shoulder. Sylvain is still standing there, hands white-knuckled on the hem of his shirt, looking oddly young and frightened.

“Don’t die, okay?”

Felix meets his eyes for a short moment that feels long before he turns away. “Don’t worry.” He says, hands tightening into fists. “I didn’t forget our promise.”

He ducks through the window and doesn’t look back again, unable to get the image of Sylvain bruised and wide-eyed out of his head.

* * *

The Officer’s Academy is less regimented than Felix was expecting. He assumed that students from different backgrounds to be kept apart, but instead students mingle without regard for country of origin or status. Even though Felix is part of the Blue Lion house, he’s already interacted with people from all over Fódlan and even beyond. It’s interesting.

The new Professor for the Blue Lion house is apparently a former mercenary as well, which is intriguing. Felix isn’t picky where his instruction comes from. When he was traveling as a squire, some of his best fighting experience was against criminals and thieves. If this Professor can give him a challenge, he won’t complain.

Most of the other students in the Blue Lion house are people he knows either through experience or reputation. The only ones he doesn’t at least know the names of are the commoners, people who bought their way in through money or influence instead of birth. Felix doesn’t particularly care whether someone is a noble or a commoner. He’s more interested in how well a person can fight.

He’s glad to be around what looks to be many capable training partners, some of whom he already knows. He managed to speak to Ingrid a bit after their initial arrival and found her just as irritatingly noble and dedicated as ever.

It’s good to see her again.

He saw Dimitri at a distance and promptly turned and walked the other direction. He doesn’t have time for the Boar Prince today. Or any day, if he’s being honest.

He’s walking across the lawn in front of the classrooms, determined to find the training ground and size up potential sparring partners, when a familiar voice stops him.

“Hey there, Felix.”

He turns to see someone standing behind him that could only be Sylvain.

He’s so much older, with cheekbones that have gone sharp and shoulders that have gone broad. But the big brown eyes and the bright hair are the same as they ever were.

Felix finds himself without words for a moment.

Sylvain grins.

“Did you miss me?”

* * *

Time passes quickly at the monastery.

When Felix is not training, he is spending time seeking advice from the Professor or being hounded to go get dinner by Sylvain. He relents on occasion, mostly because Sylvain gets more annoying until he says yes, but also because Felix, for reasons he cannot explain even to himself, enjoys spending time with him.

They’re out together at one of the taverns in the village that sprawls right next to the monastery, Sylvain flirting outrageously with the serving girl and Felix seriously considering throwing the sandwich he’s eating at Sylvain’s head.

“Must you flirt with every woman we see?” Felix sighs once the serving girl has stopped swooning over Sylvain and has gone to fetch them more drinks.

“I don’t mean it, you know that.” Sylvain waves a hand.

“Why bother, then?” Felix huffs.

“What, should I be all rude and surly like you?”

“Whatever it takes to make you stop.” Felix says.

“Hmmm, why should I stop?” Sylvain leers at him. “Are you jealous, _Felix_?” He draws out his name, like saying it is something he never wants to stop doing.

Felix, very reasonably, dumps the rest of his drink over Sylvain’s head and then leaves.

“Hey!” Sylvain chases him out into the alley beside the tavern and stops him by grabbing his wrist. “Felix, stop!”

Felix glares over his shoulder. “Let me go.” He grits out.

“All right, sorry.” Sylvain drops his hand and raises his own with exaggerated slowness. “Don’t dump another drink of me.”

“It was mostly empty.” Felix mutters, folding his arms. His wrist still prickles where Sylvain grabbed him.

“Still.” Sylvain says. “You gotta admit that was a bit of an overreaction.”

“It wasn’t.” Felix glowers at him. “The way you act sometimes…”

“What’s wrong with how I act?”

“You’re insatiable and frivolous and…” Felix trails off and shakes his head. “I can’t keep spending time watching you get yourself into increasingly ridiculous situations.” He looks away, raises his chin. “It’s a waste of my time.”

“I’m a waste of you time.” Sylvain echoes. “Got it, thanks.”

Felix huffs. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

“Felix, I think that _is_ what you meant.” He takes a step closer, close enough that Felix can see the brown of his eyes even in the low light. “You think you’re too good to even be friends with me, isn’t that right?”

Felix takes a step forward too, so there’s almost no space between them. “Maybe it is.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks, the air between them filled with a tension Felix can’t name. But then, something breaks it.

“Felix! Sylvain!” A female voice is calling their names. “Where are you?”

They exchange a glance, hostile from Felix and frustrated from Sylvain, before stepping out of the alley together to see Ingrid standing in front of the tavern looking annoyed.

“Ingrid.” Felix says, surprised. She always refused their invitations to dinner, choosing to stay in and pour over tales of chivalry with Ashe in the library.“What are you doing here?”

“The Professor sent me to find you both.” She says when she sees them. “We have a new mission and you both need to be there.”

“A new mission?” Sylvain frowns. “Couldn’t it have waited until morning?”

“Sylvain.” Ingrid says, her face pale and her tone grave. “It’s about your brother.”

* * *

Sylvain is the one to kills Miklan.

Felix isn’t sure if it’s just very bad luck or if he does it on purpose. Regardless of the reason, Felix is just a step away as Sylvain lands the final blow and Miklan reverts back into something like human again.

Sylvain is standing tall with his lance clenched in both hands and Miklan is dead.

“I’ll have to bury him.” Sylvain says and his voice is so soft that Felix is sure he’s the only one who hears it. “He deserves that much.”

The rest of the Blue Lions are sighing in relief and letting out muted noises of satisfaction as the Professor leads the way down the crumbling keep stairs and away from the bodies. Felix wipes the blood off of his sword before following.

He’s exhausted. This fight was long and dangerous. He’s honestly astonished that no one died here, fighting in cramped corridors against enemies who were ruthless and hopeless and fought like they had nothing at all to lose.

The Professor and the others set up camp for the night on the bottom floor of the tower, Mercedes working to heal all the cuts and bruises gained in the confrontation. They’re all tired and the night outside is rainy and unseasonably cold. It makes more sense to set out for the monastery once everyone has slept for a few hours.

It takes a while before Felix realizes Sylvain isn’t among the students. He considers asking if anyone has seen him. He glances over to where Dimitri and the Professor are looking at each other adoringly over a map of their planned route home. Ugh.

He’ll just look himself.

It takes a while, combing through the old tower that’s leaky and dark and still filled with traps they haven’t bothered to disarm. But finally Felix finds him, still up on the top floor where they killed Miklan.

Sylvain is sitting against the far wall, the Lance of Ruin a few feet from his right hand, head bowed. Miklan’s body is covered in fabric, lying in front of him. Some watery moonlight has managed to break through the clouds, pouring through the holes in the roof and lining his bright hair and dark armor in silver. He looks unreal like this, someone Felix can’t reach, can’t touch.

“Sylvain?”

He looks up slowly, eyes shadowed in the dark.

“Felix.”

Felix goes to him, edging around Miklan’s body. It’s unpleasant to look at the body of someone he knows, even if he always hated Miklan. Once he’s in front of Sylvain, Felix offers him an outstretched hand.

“C’mon.” Felix says. “There were farmhouses not far from here. We routed their bandit issue, so they’re not going to have a problem with us taking a few shovels.”

“I...what?” Sylvain doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the damp stone floor. He has blood splattered on his face. Felix doesn’t know if it’s his or Miklan’s.

“Didn’t you want to bury him?” Felix says flatly, jerking his head towards where Miklan’s body is lying, wrapped in an old moth-eaten flag someone had found in a back room. “The Professor said we’re leaving in the morning. So if you want to bury him, we need to do it now.”

“Oh.” Sylvain blinks and then stands without taking Felix’s hand. “Right.”

Felix lets his hand fall back to his side.

Together, they make their way outside with Miklan’s body. No one sees them go, all either sleeping or speaking in low voices around a crackling fire. The threat is past so their guard is down, even the Professor’s. Felix makes a note to deride them all for it on the march back to the monastery.

They don’t speak much as the select a place a little ways from the crumbling keep underneath a half-dead tree with gnarled branches. Felix waits with the body, trying not to look at it too closely, as Sylvain goes to a nearby farmhouse and steals two shovels from their barn.

“It’s borrowing.” He insists as he gives Felix his. “We’ll return them once we’re done.”

Felix just grunts and moves to start digging. He doesn’t particularly care if they return the shovels or not, but if it makes Sylvain feel better then he’ll play along.

It’s not easy to dig a grave in the rain. The mud slides back into the hole and coats their clothes. After a while, they both abandon their armor, dumping it into a pile by the base of the old tree where the Lance of Ruin is already propped. It’s pulsing with a faint red light, even in the rain, and is twitching just a bit. Felix looks away, suddenly glad that there isn’t a relic for him to inherit.

“You don’t have to help.” Sylvain says once Felix strips off the last bit of his armor, leaving him in black pants and loose white shirt already gone see-through in the rain.

“Oh please.” Felix retrieves his shovel and starts in again. “There’s no way you could finish this before morning without my help.”

Sylvain meets his eyes and then quickly looks away. “I...thanks.” He shovels out another mound of dirt. “I know that you didn’t like him.”

Felix snorts. “He was a complete and utter bastard.”

Sylvain lets out a horrible, choked laugh. “Yeah, he was, wasn’t he?”

Felix realizes with no small amount of distress that Sylvain is crying. He doesn’t know how to deal with tears from anyone, let alone Sylvain.

He hadn’t seen Sylvain cry since they were children. He still remembers it; Sylvain, bruised and barefoot at nine years old, dirty and skinny because Miklan had pushed him down a well and it had been nearly three days before they’d found him. He’d cried then too, his hands pressed over his face as he’d tried to hide his wet, snotty tears.

Felix had pretended he couldn’t see them.

He does that again now, eyes focused on the rain-soaked earth as his shovel bites into it again and again and again. He loses feeling in his fingers after a while, the rain making them slick against the handle of the shovel. He’ll have blisters when this is done. He won’t be able to train properly for weeks.

Felix doesn’t look at Sylvain’s tears, doesn’t look at the body still lying beneath the tree. He tightens his hands on the shovel.

There isn’t much he can do, but he can do this.

When the hole is finally deep enough, they drop Miklan’s body in rather unceremoniously. The thud it makes when it hits the wet dirt makes Sylvain flinch. They can’t see Miklan’s face, covered as it is by the old flag with an insignia too faded to be made out.

“You were right.” Sylvain says. “He was a complete bastard.” He’s staring down at the limp figure, his hands clenched into fists. “He beat me and humiliated me and hated me for something I had no control over.” He sighs. “But I can’t blame him. Who’s to say it wouldn’t be just the same if he had the Crest and I didn’t.”

Felix swallows, looks at Sylvain instead of the body. “It wouldn’t be.”

Sylvain laughs weakly. “You’re saying nice things to me now? I really must look pathetic.”

“I’m not being nice.” Felix says because he’s not. Sylvain is many things, some good and some terrible, but he’d never be the kind of man Miklan was. Felix knows that complete certainty. “Come on.” He picks up his shovel. “We need to hurry or we’ll never be done by morning.”

“Right.” Sylvain shakes his head, picks up his own shovel. “Sorry.”

Together, they cover Miklan’s body with dark, wet earth. They don’t speak.

“We should have flowers.” Says Sylvain. Felix glances over at him. He looks terrible, eyes red and face blotchy and covered in mud. The Sylvain beside Felix right now looks nothing like the easy, handsome boy who charms girls by the dozen back at the monastery. Felix wonders, not for the first time, which Sylvain is the real one. “You’re supposed to have flowers at a funeral.”

Felix doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks that Miklan didn’t even deserve this burial. Miklan was awful and hateful and Felix doesn’t regret that they killed him.

He looks down at the mound of wet dirt in front of them.

There were so many flowers at Glenn’s funeral, frothy waves of them in all shades of white and blue. He almost couldn’t see the dirt underneath them. He didn’t cry then. He doesn’t cry now, staring at the grave of a man he hated.

Sylvain lets out a choked noise. “I’m sorry. This is so stupid.”

“It’s not.” Felix says. He doesn’t know what the words for this are, but stupid isn’t one of them.

“Thank you.” Sylvain says, looking over at him. “For helping me.”

Felix just nods. They stand there for a long while, side-by-side, as the rain peters out and dawn stains the clouds pink and grey.

“I don’t know what to say.” Sylvain sighs at last. “I should say something but…” He rubs his eyes with a hand. “I buried him. That should be enough, right?”

Felix would have left his body where it fell on the floor of that musty, crumbling keep. He doesn’t say that, though. “Come on.” He jerks his head towards the keep. “The Professor and the rest will be leaving soon.”

Felix nods and stretches. “After you.”

Together, they retrieve their armor and the lance Miklan died for. Sylvain picks it up with visible distaste, but he picks it up all the same. They make their way across the field, but right outside the keep Sylvain stops Felix with a hand on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Felix. Seriously.” He says. “This whole thing...it helped, having you there. Talking to you helped.”

Felix looks away. “If you need to talk more later…” He trails off, feeling suddenly vulnerable. He doesn’t offer things like this, he doesn’t help people. But Sylvain looks so young right now, like the boy Felix used to follow around for days on end because he was funny and brilliant and bold and a hundred other things Felix himself could never be.

“I’ll come by.” Sylvain says, voice low. His hair is still wet with rain and falling into his eyes. “When we get back to the monastery.”

Felix nods once and, before he can blurt out anything else horribly embarrassing, leads the way back inside the keep where the Professor and their classmates are waiting.

* * *

The Professor grows so many flowers that Felix occasionally suspects the “Ashen Demon” is a former farmer instead of a former mercenary. Flowers are forced on everyone for all sorts of ridiculous reasons. Felix has received roses for a particularly good sword practice session, forget-me-nots for agreeing to attend tea and carnations for “looking engaged in learning.” He’s pretty sure that last one was a made-up excuse to foist more flowers upon his unsuspecting person.

The upside (if there is one) is that Felix is easily able to grab a bouquet without any student asking questions. They’re used to seeing the Blue Lion house toting around armfuls of flowers so Felix leaving the greenhouse with a few lilies doesn’t even get a second glance.

He goes back to his room in a hurry, but is careful to make it look like he’s not in a hurry at all. There a vase on one of his shelves that he takes down and puts the flowers in. He sets the little bundle of flowers down on this table and he just stares for a while. They’re white, plainer than many of the flowers the Professor forces on him.

He keeps thinking of Sylvain’s words about flowers for a funeral. He keeps thinking of the flowers at Glen’s funeral. He keeps thinking about many things he thought he’d long since buried.

He sighs and rubs his eyes. He wants to go down to the training grounds and work until he’s exhausted, until his thoughts are eclipsed by the feeling of his sword in hand. But he offered to be there for Sylvain. He hasn’t come by yet, but Felix wants to be here when he does.

It’s closer to dawn than dusk when a knock sounds at Felix’s door. He closes the book on tactics he’s been pouring over and stands, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes.

“Ingrid?” She’s not the one he expected at his door. Then, he notices Sylvain leaning heavily against one of her shoulder, very clearly drunk and disheveled.

“It’s your turn.” Ingrid says. She looks frazzled, her long hair slipping free of its customary tie and hanging loose around her face. She shoves Sylvain into his arms. “Here.”

“I...what?” Sylvain is limp and smells like cheap alcohol and even cheaper perfume.

“Some of the girls from down in the village came and got me.” She says. “Apparently, he was at a tavern making a nuisance of himself.” She rolls her eyes. “He never changes.”

“Why didn’t you take him to his room?” Felix demands. Sylvain is leaning heavily on him, skin slick and sticky with sweat and bitter alcohol. Someone probably poured their drink on him again. “I don’t have time to babysit him!”

“He’s drunk, Felix.” Ingrid sighs. “If we leave him alone, he’ll either throw up so much he’ll die or he’ll decide to go back out and try to pick up some poor, unsuspecting village girl.”

“So?” Felix raises an eyebrow.

“Just let him sleep it off on your floor, all right?” Ingrid pushes the loose strands of hair out of her face. “I’ll owe you one.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” She smiles at him tiredly and leaves him there with a drunk Sylvain. A drunk Sylvain who clearly had no intention of stopping by his room. The thought makes him grit his teeth and feel remarkably foolish for bothering to stay here, to stay up, to get flowers. 

He more or less drops Sylvain on the floor, unsympathetic as he lets out a low, sad moan. He rolls onto his back and looks up at Felix.

“Oh!” He smiles, wide and warm and dazed. “Felix! When did you get here?”

“This is my room, moron.” Felix growls at him. “Now be quiet. You’re being a nusiance.”

“You’re mad at me.” He pouts. Sylvain has a face made for pouting.

“I’m always mad at you, Sylvain.” Felix snaps, turning away so he doesn’t have to look at him. He goes to his wardrobe and takes out his sleep clothes, determined to go to bed and ignore Sylvain for the rest of the evening.

“Felix…” Sylvain whines from the floor. “Don’t be mad. It hate it when you’re mad.”

“Well, quit being such an idiot then.” Felix says, slipping his sleep clothes on.

“I don’t do it on purpose.” Sylvain sighs.

“Then why do you do it?" Felix grits out. 

"I don't know." 

Felix blows out the candle he's been using and throws himself onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling, unable to see it in the dark. "Hmph. That makes it worse, then. Having no reason for doing the things you do." 

For a few minutes, the room is silent and Felix hopes that Sylvain has managed to fall asleep. 

But then, he breaks the silence. "Can I sleep with you?" 

Felix sits straight up in bed. "_What_?" 

"Just...can I sleep in your bed?" His voice is quiet, hesitant. 

Felix scoffs. "No, Sylvain. Go to sleep." 

"I should go back out to the tavern." Sylvain's voice is surly, annoyed. "I could find a girl there who would let me sleep with her." 

Felix swings his legs off of his bed and uses what little magic he knows to relight the candle. "Shut up, Sylvain. Shut up or leave." 

Sylvain sits up, listing to one side a little. "You're horrible, you know that? You're horrible to me." 

Felix clenches his fists, feels the blisters he gained from digging Miklan's grave throb. "If I'm so horrible, then leave." He stands. Sylvain does the same. 

"Fine! I will!" Sylvain takes a few tottering steps towards the door and pushes it open. "I'll just leave." 

“Go back to your room, Sylvain.” Felix snarls, exhausted and heartsick and disappointed. “I don’t care what you do.”

“Felix, I…” Sylvain’s eyes are wide and Felix is reminded of the boy he adored as a child, the one who he always followed two steps behind. For whatever reason, the reminder only serves to make him angrier.

“Leave, Sylvain.” He doesn't bother to wait for a reply before slamming the door in Sylvain’s face.

* * *

Things are tense between them after that.

Felix assumes that they’ll make up, at least before they graduate.

As it turns out, they don’t have time before Edlegard starts a war and everything around them crumbles.

* * *

Felix doesn’t see anyone from Garegg Mach during the first five years of the war.

He hardly even speaks to his father, just reports what he’s seen and then heads back out to the front. He fights and he kills and he wins over, and over, and over again.

This is what they trained him for.

This is what he’s for.

* * *

Felix goes back to Garegg Mach on the day the Blue Lions said they would five years ago.

He doesn’t expect anyone to turn up at the monastery after five years of war. But he’s exhausted and lonely enough after his endless fight against the Empire. Even a day spent alone at an abandoned ruin would be preferable to another spent fighting an ultimately fruitless war.

But, when he gets there, he is shocked to find that he’s not alone. He sees Annette and Mercedes, full of joy and laughter. Ashe, who seems impossibly tall. Ingrid, with her hair short and her eyes full of determination. Sylvain, who gives him a smile that is small and warm and just for Felix.

Even the Professor Felix assumed dead is there, looking the same as ever.

The Blue Lions are back and soon it’s a war in earnest, with battleplans and supplies and an army to boot.

Dimitri is still lurking around the place like a feral creature, snapping at anyone who gets too close. Even the Professor seems unable to reach him.

But the war proceeds anyway.

Soon, Felix’s father joins them, looking older and tireder than Felix has ever seen him.

They don’t speak much. They haven’t really talked since Felix was fourteen.

But he’s here. And maybe that can be enough.

Of course, that all fails rather spectacularly and before long, Rodrigue leaves him the same way everyone else seems to.

* * *

Felix doesn’t go to Rodrigue’s funeral. He leaves that responsibility to Dimitri, they boy who was more of a son to him that Felix ever was.

He hits the dummy in front of him harder, trying not to think. It’s fine, he’s fine, he doesn’t care about his bastard of an old man. Of course he died for the beast prince, of course he did. He strikes again, two blows in rapid succession, and flexes his fingers. It’s none of Felix’s business. They may share a last name and a blasted Crest, but as far as Felix is concerned Rodrigue hasn’t had any interest in being his father since Felix was fourteen.

He punches the dummy again, the dull thunk of his knuckles and his harsh breathing the only sounds in the training ground. Everyone else, probably the entire monastery, is standing around and watching as a dead man is lowered into the earth to be covered by dirt and flowers.

One, two, punch, one, two, punch. It’s a waste of time. Funerals are always such a waste of everyone’s time. They’re at war. Every moment they delay is a moment Edlegard gets stronger, a moment Fargus suffers a little bit more. One, two, punch. One, two, punch.

He strikes the dummy over and over and over again until his hands lose their feeling, until his whole body is slick with sweat. No one breaks his concentration and he hits the dummy again and again and again until his knuckles start to bleed.

He has his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, when someone else comes onto the training grounds. He hears footsteps and he looks up to see a figure in black with violently red hair standing there, arms crossed.

“Felix. Come on.” It’s Sylvain. “You need to stop.”

“What?” Felix says absently. He feels fuzzy and off-kilter, his usual equilibrium dulled by exhaustion. “Why?”

Sylvain walks over and rests a hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm even through his clothing. “You’ve been at this long enough, Felix.”

“I’m not done.” Felix insists, but the stitch in his side hurts every time he breathes and his hands ache.

“You’re done.” Sylvain says in a tone Felix rarely hears from him, something serious and sad. The hand on his shoulder squeezes. “Come with me.”

Felix breathes in deep and then out again. “Fine.”

Sylvain leads Felix away from the training grounds and across the monastery, not speaking. Above, the sky is dark and scattered with stars. When Felix was very young, back before Glenn died, his father would take them both outside in the coldest parts of winter and together they would watch as strange, vibrant lights pulsed and glowed before a thick ribbon of flickering stars.

Felix’s breath had risen in the air every time he exhaled and the tip of his nose had lost feeling in seconds. Those had been some of the best nights of his life.

“C’mon.” They’ve reached their destination. The bathhouse, apparently. “Let’s get inside.”

Felix blinks and looks away from the stars to follow Sylvain inside. He’s the only one left alive who remembers those nights looking up at the stars and strange lights.

He tries to put it out of mind.

No one is in the bathhouse this time of night. Back when they were in school, the bathhouse at night was rife with lovestruck students trying for a discrete spot to rendezvous. Now, though, they’re not students. They’re soldiers and so they have more important things to think about than romance.

Something about that strikes Felix as unbearably sad.

Sylvain leads the way inside and looks away as Felix strips and steps into the bath. The water is hot and the air is warm and Felix is unbearably exhausted.

“How was it?” Felix says after a while.

“The funeral?” Sylvain asks and Felix nods. Sylvain sighs. “It was...short. Dimitri said a few things.”

“At least we didn’t have to dig the grave this time.” Felix says, tilting his head back and to the side so he can look up at Sylvain. He’s still sitting on the side of the bath, a towel around his waist. He’s scarred, just like Felix is. Just like they all are thanks to this war.

“Felix…” Sylvain sounds tired.

“You can go.” Felix lets his head loll, looks back down at the water. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Sylvain says. “Your dad just died.”

“I hated him.” Felix says.

“Yeah.” Sylvain sighs. “I know.”

For a while, they sit there in silence. Felix lets the warm water loosen his muscles and wash away the sweat. Sylvain sticks his feet in, but doesn’t take off his towel. Felix doesn’t comment and instead starts trying to scrub the dried blood from his knuckles. The cuts are worse than he thought and they start to bleed again as he cleans them.

“Felix?”

“Mmmm?” Felix turns towards the wall, facing Sylvain.

Sylvain reaches out and is surprisingly gentle as he takes Felix’s hands in both of his. “You’re bleeding.” He murmurs, rubbing a thumb along the edge of the cuts Felix managed to open along his knuckles. Felix is too tired to hide his wince.

“Here.” Sylvain’s hands grow warm and Felix is surprised to see the white-green light of healing magic lim his hands for a moment. The cuts fade and the pain dulls into almost nothing.

“I…” Felix looks up at Sylvain in surprise. He’d known that Sylvain had been working on magic on and off since they were at the Academy, but for some reason seeing the evidence like this and not as gouts of fire on the battlefield is strange.

“Sorry.” He drops Felix’s hands to rub the back of his neck, letting them fall into his lap. “I’ve been working on healing magic for a bit, but I’m still pretty bad.”

“No.” Felix examines one of his hands. The cuts have faded into thin pink lines, well on their way to being fully healed. “Thank you, Sylvain.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Sylvain says. “You never thank me.”

“Blame it on the exhaustion if you must.” Felix sighs. The world is swimming at the edges in a way that can’t just be blamed on the steam rising from the water.

“All right, then.” Sylvain stands, knocking Felix’s hands away, and hitches up his towel. “Get out. You need to get some sleep.”

Felix obeys without argument, climbing out of the warm water and wrapping a towel around his waist when Sylvain offers him one. His face, flushed from the heat of the bathhouse, is turned away. Neither of them speak as they go back to the changing rooms and dress in clean shirts and trousers.

Felix is numb with exhaustion again, his limbs almost too heavy to lift. He lets Sylvain lead him back to the dorms and steer him into a bed. He feels warm and then heavy and then he feels nothing at all.

* * *

Felix dreams he’s trapped underneath dark earth and flowers.

He gasps himself awake, struggling out of blankets that have managed to tangle around him. But there’s something else keeping him contained, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle like they have the right to be there.

He looks down at them, nonplussed. The arms wrapped around him are thick, marked with scars and freckles. The memories of last night come rushing back as he counts the scars on the arms that are so tight around him.

“Shhh, go back to sleep.” Sylvain’s voice is a rumble against his back, one hand rubbing up and down Felix’s upper arm. “You’re fine.”

Felix lets out an annoyed huff and flips over so he’s facing Sylvain. His eyes are still closed. “It’s me, you idiot.” He snaps, ready to shove Sylvain away and leave him to dreams of whatever girl he thinks is in his arms.

Sylvain blinks his eyes open, brown turned amber in the faint light spilling through the nearby window. “I know that.” He murmurs and pulls Felix a little closer, so Felix’s face is pressed right up against his throat. “Try to sleep a while longer, okay?”

Felix can feel Sylvain’s pulse against his cheek, his lips. From this close, he could bite him. Grab on like a rabid dog and not let go.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes his eyes.

* * *

Felix goes to the training ground once he leaves Sylvain’s bed and promptly throws himself into a spar against the largest and toughest-looking of the soldiers training there. He doesn’t want to think about anything for a while, not about his dead father, not about Dimitri, not about Sylvain.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that fact that Sylvain slept beside him all night and held him, doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he woke up and kept on holding him. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean.

He doesn’t know what anything Sylvain has been doing lately means and, quite frankly, it’s fucking with his head.

He’s still distracted the next day when he offers to go on a mission a little ways away from the monastery. Hopefully, it will help him to refocus. Nothing clears his head quiet like a good fight, after all.

It’s supposed to be a small skirmish, just routing a group of bandits who had made their camp a bit too close for comfort. Neither the Professor nor Dimitri even come, instead opting to stay at the keep and pour over the strategies for the upcoming battles and to look at one another adoringly when the other is looking away.

Dedue leads a group down to face them; just himself, Ashe, Felix, Sylvain, and a group of the Knights of Serios.

Sylvain makes a point to walk at Felix’s side the whole way, even though they don’t actually talk much. He keeps sneaking glances at Felix out of the corner of his eyes and then looking away whenever Felix looks back.

It makes Felix feel...strange. He’s hot and unsettled, just like he was after he woke up in Sylvain’s arms. Things keep happening that make him feel like this around Sylvain, even stupid normal things. The other day when he gave Sylvain a box of chocolates from an admirer he didn’t want, the grin of Sylvain’s face made his heart jump and his face hot.

He doesn’t understand any of this.

It’s almost a relief when they crest a hill and see the bandit’s camp laid out before them. Deude gives the signal and, as one, they all charge.

As soon as they reach the camp, it becomes clear that something is wrong. There are more bandits in the camp than any of them expected, enough of them that they are almost immediately overwhelmed.

The fight is fast and brutal. Felix can barely keep track of all the enemies he dispatches, his sword flashing like lightning in his grip. He ducks under a blow from an axe, parries away a sword, dodges a ball of fire. He can’t stop moving.

But then, a horrible scream pierces the air. He looks, time suddenly slow around him, as Sylvain is stabbed in the side by a bandit who was clearly lining up a blow for Felix. Sylvain manages to blow the bandit away with a handful of fire, but he falls to his knees, the damage already done.

_No, not him, not him too._

Felix’s mind is a white-hot whirl of panic as he rushes forward and cuts all three bandits between him and Sylvain down, his usually technique lost in a haze of steel and speed. They fall in seconds and then all that’s left is Sylvain, limp on the ground.

Felix falls into a crouch beside Sylvain and tries to cast one of the few spells he knows; a weak healing spell that does little more than heal papercuts. But he has to try something, anything to save him. He can’t lose Sylvain. He refuses to.

The rest of the skirmish is winding down, the bandits' superior numbers mattering little before the superior skill of the Knights of Serios. Ashe and Dedue seem to have noticed Felix and Sylvain on the ground and are hurrying over, Ashe looking worried and Dedue grave.

Felix can’t lose Sylvain.

It’s almost funny, how terrified he is. It’s happened so often. Felix should be used to losing the people he loves by now.

The people he loves.

Huh. Does that mean…

“We need to get him back to the monastery.” Dedue says gravely. “He needs more help than we can provide here.”

“I’ll go ahead with him.” Felix says. “If I can borrow a horse.”

“You can borrow mine.” Ashe says and doesn’t suggest that he go instead of Felix. Felix is grateful for it.

He gets saddled up quickly and straps Sylvain into the saddle in front of him. Felix is no expert with horses, but he grew up a noble. He’s ridden enough times before that he can get them back to the monastery quickly enough.

The Knights of Serios notice his frantic flight across the bridge into the monastery and, assuming the worst, must inform the Professor and Dimitri. They’re both waiting there, looking anxious, but Felix jumps from the horse and shoves them both aside to get to Mercedes.

“Sylvain.” He pants, “He’s been injured, he needs help.”

She nods her understanding. “I’ll help him Felix, I promise.” She says and hurries to the horse where Sylvain is still seated, taking a few knights with her to carry him. Felix stands aside as she and the Knights take Sylvain to the infirmary. He looks so pale and so still...Felix swallows his panic as best he can.

“What happened?” Dimitri demands as soon as the knights and Merecedes have disappeared into the monastery.

“There were more bandits than our intelligence reported.” Felix grit out, flexing his fingers and trying to forget the feel of Sylvain’s blood on them. “I was in a vulnerable position and Sylvain covered for me.” He looks away, unable to meet Dimitri’s eyes. “He’s been hurt. Badly.”

“Where are Dedue and Ashe?” The Professor asks.

“They’re fine.” Felix says shortly. “I rode ahead to get Sylvain to a healer.”

They both have more questions, about the bandits and about Sylvain, and Felix answers them numbly, his mind still replaying the sound of Sylvain’s scream as the blade bit into him over and over and over.

“You should go to the infirmary too.” The Professor says finally. “You have some scrapes and bruises they should heal up for you.”

“I…” Felix is completely fine and the Professor knows it. His distress about Sylvain must be clearly visible. “Right.” He says and leaves before either of them can ask him to stay.

When he reaches the infirmary, Mercedes is wiping her hands with a cloth. The beds behind her are empty. Felix’s stomach flips.

“Mercedes…” He says and can’t keep his voice from shaking. “Is he…”

She smiles at him. “Sylvain is back in his room, Felix. He’s resting.”

Felix’s whole body seems to go lax in relief. “He’s...okay?”

“He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be fine.” She says gently. “He’ll just need to take it easy for a while.”

“Oh.” Felix exhales. “Thank you, Mercedes.”

She nods. “You’re welcome. I think it would be good for him if you wanted to go in and see him, Felix.”

Felix, after thanking her a few more times, goes.

He expects to find Sylvain bedridden and swathed in bandages, pale and sick looking. But when Felix knocks on the door, Slyvain answers it looking surprisingly...okay.

“Felix!” Sylvain beams at him. “You’re all right!”

“Of course I’m all right, you idiot.” Felix grits out. “I’m not the one who got stabbed.”

“I…” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

“You practically jumped in front of the sword.” Felix snaps.

“They were going to attack you!” Sylvain says. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not what you did.” Felix snaps. “You should have been protecting yourself.”

“I want to protect you.” He says stubbornly.

“Take care of yourself first.” Felix says, ignoring the jolt that Sylvain’s words sent through him. “Train more until you can protect yourself. And then you can worry about protecting others.”

“Fine.” Sylvain sighs and sits on his bed, doing his best to hide a wince.

“And get some rest.” Felix says. “You look terrible.” That last part is a lie. Sylvain is incapable of looking terrible.

“Ouch.” Sylvain pouts. “So rude, Felix. Shouldn’t you be tenderly nursing me back to health with sweet words?”

“Ugh.” Felix glares at him. “I’m leaving.”

“Hey, Felix?” Sylvain tilts his head to the side.

“What?”

“I’m okay.” Sylvain smiles at him. “Everything’s fine.”

He’s right. Everything is fine. It makes Felix feel stupid for worrying like he did. Sylvain is perfectly fine. But...

“Sylvain.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t get to die before me either.” He says.

“Don’t worry.” Sylvain says softly. “I remember our promise too.”

Felix swallows hard, pausing right before the door. “Don’t forget it.”

Felix hears the smile in Felix’s voice. “Never.”

* * *

A week later, Felix is practicing at the training grounds.It’s midmorning and they’re deserted. Most other people are still at breakfast or are enjoying a few extra moments in bed. Felix needs to be here, working out his energy before a day spent in planning and strategy sessions. He’s going through his forms, focusing on the balance of his body as he moves.

He hears a whistle and opens his eyes.

Sylvain is leaning up against the wall, a teasing grin on his lips. “Looking good there, Felix.”

Felix glowers at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You wanted me to practice more, yeah?” Sylvain is grinning. “So this is me, here for practice.”

“Okay, fine.” Felix rolls his shoulders and goes to pick up a practice spear even though a sword is his weapon of choice. He levels it at Sylvain. “Let’s go.”

Sylvain picks up his own practice spear and tests the weight. Seemingly satisfied, he twirls it once and points it at Felix. “After you.”

They circle for a few moments, each looking intently at the other. Then, Sylvain strikes. His blows come hard and fast, each one aimed to unbalance. Felix parries, but he’s unused to the length of the spear and nearly falls, thrown off by the balance.

Sylvain grins. “What’s wrong? Do you not have experience _handling spears_?”

Felix snarls and jabs at Slyvain’s face. “Take this seriously!”

“I always take you seriously.” He says and his eyes are grave. He means it.

Felix’s breath catches, just a bit, and he’s distracted enough that Slyvain’s next strike actually manages to send him to his knees. With a grin that Felix knows means trouble, Sylvain drops his spear and bodily tackles him.

It reminds him of their childhood to be tussling on the ground with Sylvain like this again. Sylvain is heavier and taller, but Felix is faster and isn’t afraid to fight dirty. He jabs Sylvain hard in the ribs and soon has the upper hand, pinning Sylvain to the floor by the wrists.

Sylvain is gorgeous like this, his red hair bright against the ground and his eyes alive with challenge. He’s warm under Felix’s hands, body a stripe of head pressed against him all the way down.

Sylvain, the boy who Felix has followed after since before he knew what it meant to love someone. Sylvain, who is here under Felix’s hands, breath coming in unsteady pants. Sylvain, who Felix wants so much despite all his desperate attempts to dissuade himself.

Felix isn’t surprised when he leans down and kisses him.

He _is_ surprised when Sylvain kisses him back.

His lips are warm and soft and, unlike Felix, he clearly knows what he’s doing. It’s wet and kind of messy and undeniably an absolutely horrible idea, but Felix can’t make himself stop. Slyvain’s lips taste like salt and he’s warm.

Felix could happily live in this moment forever, with Slyvain’s lips against his, his hands still pinning Sylvain to the ground.

But he can’t.

“We can’t do this.” Felix gasps, breaking away. “We can’t.”

“Felix, I…” Sylvain pants. He’s disheveled and beautiful like this. It hurts to look at him.

“No.” Felix says, to himself as well as to Sylvain. “This can’t happen.”

Something dims in Sylvain’s eyes. “Oh.”

“Sylvain, I just…” Felix’s voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. “It’s just...the war. We can’t do this right now.”

Sylvain swallows, a horribly showy swallow that practically forces Felix to direct all of his attention at Sylvain’s long, bared neck. He wants to bite it. “We could.” He breathes.

Felix closes his eyes for a long moment and hates the fact that some of his father’s talk of honor stuck with him after all. “We have to give everything we have to this war.” He says, low and rough. “It has to be the most important thing right now.”

Sylvain sighs. “Fine. I understand. But...can this...can we? Someday, I mean. After the war is done.”

Felix knows it’s a bad idea, knows that Sylvain will likely forget this latest in a long series of ill-advised romantic decisions. But still, he nods.

Felix lets his head fall to Slyvain’s chest and noses under his chin, presses his lips against Sylvain’s throat. “We’ll win.” He murmurs. “And when we do, we’ll figure out all of the rest.”

Felix feels Sylvain’s hand come up and tangle in his hair. “You promise?”

“I do.”

* * *

The war ends and they’re on the winning side.

Felix is surprised. Not because they won. Somehow he knows that Dimitri and the Professor were always going to be the winners. No, he’s surprised because they’ve finally reached the end and, somehow, there are no funerals this time. No one Felix loves has died. Impossibly, all of them are still standing on the other side of this war.

Felix doesn’t really believe in any goddess, but maybe he’s going to have to consider that something out there is making miracles happen. He glances over at the Professor, who is busy doing what can only be described as spooning while standing up with Dimitri, despite the fact they are in full view of a large crowd and several important church officials.

Felix sighs. They’re hopeless, honestly. But they’ve been that way for years, so he’s more or less over it by now.

He trudges away from the main group and stares out over the mostly-recovered grounds of Garreg Mach. They’ll leave soon, heading back to their respective homes to start the long process of rebuilding, but for now everyone is still here. His former classmates are gathered around in groups of two and three, talking and smiling and laughing. He suspects that, just like him, they’re all amazed they won without losing anyone.

He allows himself a small smile before he turns away.

Felix walks across the monastery, not stopping to speak to anyone. Before he realizes where exactly his feet are taking him, he looks up and realizes he’s standing in the cemetery. He takes a deep breath and then walks to Rodrigue’s grave.

It's time to lay his past to rest. 

“Hey, old man.” He says softly. “We won. You would be proud. The Boar Prince...well, he’ll be the Boar King soon, he pulled through. We all pulled through.”

The wind rushes past, pulling at his hair. The day is warm and the winds are promising. A new age is coming to Fódlan and he will be there to help shape it, for himself and for everyone who came before.

He sighs, bows his head. “Goodbye...father.”

His father’s grave has flowers growing on it. He bends down to pick one, a small thing with lovely blue petals. Would his father appreciate that there were flowers on his grave?

Maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe the flowers at Glenn’s funeral didn’t matter either, not really. Flowers, Felix has realized, are not for the people below the earth. They’re for those who remain.

He pockets the small blue flower. When he is back at home, maybe he’ll tend to the dead garden outside of his childhood bedroom. Maybe he’ll plant flowers there, flowers for himself and no one else.

He tilts his head back and looks up at the endlessly blue sky.

Felix isn’t like Dimitri. He won’t let the ghosts who still linger at his side drown him. He can accept them now, Glenn and his father, and he can move on.

He’ll keep moving, keep going forward, because they can’t anymore.

It’s all he can do.

“Hey!” He hears a shout and glances back to see Sylvain walking towards him, one hand raised. “There you are, I was looking…” He trails off as he gets closer, realizes where Felix is standing.

“Felix, you’re crying.” Sylvain says, voice soft.

“I…” Felix reaches up and touches his cheek and, with a start, realizes that it’s wet. “I guess that I am.”

“Here.” Sylvain takes the last few steps over to him and wipes the tears from his cheeks with careful hands. “It’s okay.”

Felix nods his head, lets Sylvain wipe his hears. “I know.”

They linger there for a while, in front of Rodrigue’s grave, as the wind sways the flowers and tugs at their clothes. He closes his eyes and leans into Sylvain just a little, pressing his forehead against Sylvain’s shoulder. He’s solid, steady. Felix breathes.

“Everyone is talking about going back home.” Sylvain says, one of his hands rubbing slow circles against Felix’s back. “About leaving.”

“When are you going?” Felix asks.

“Probably in a week or so.” Sylvain says. “You?”

“The same.” Felix says, thinking of the fact that there will be no one there when he gets back. His house is large and will be empty. He isn’t looking forward to going home alone.

He leans away from Sylvain and looks into his eyes. Their color seems darker today, like tea left to steep a little too long. “We can go together, if you want.” He says, words oddly tentative.

Felix frowns at him. “I expect there will be a whole..._procession_ what with Dimitri and the Professor.” He says distastefully. “We’ll likely be roped in.” He understands the need for pomp and circumstance, understands that it is important for the people who have suffered for so long to see that the war is done. But he doesn’t have to like it.

“No, I mean…” Sylvain looks sheepish. “After all of that. I could go to your home. With you.”

Felix blinks, utterly nonplussed. “With me?”

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “You’re really going to make me spell this out, huh?”

“Spell what out?”

“I want to go home with you.” He says. “I want to stay with you and live with you and just...just _be_ with you, Felix.”

Felix’s breath catches. “Why?”

“You know I love you, right?” Sylvain says.

“Love me?” Felix repeats, feeling lost. He’s never considered himself a particularly lovable person. It never occurred to him that someone, that Sylvain, might love him.

“Yeah, for a long time.” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Longer than I want to admit to you right now.”

“But…” Felix swallows hard. “This can’t happen, Sylvain.”

Sylvain’s breath hitches, like Felix just struck him. “I...do you not feel the same? I thought…”

“My feelings have nothing to do with it.” Felix snaps, annoyed at the way he can feel his cheeks heating up. “We both have duties, things we can’t escape, people we have to be.” He looks down at the flowers growing on his father’s grave. He knows everything he’s saying is true, and yet...

“I’ll give up my claim.” Sylvain says easily and Felix looks up, meets his eyes. “Or we can just combine our lands once my old man dies. Dimitri wouldn’t stop us. He owes us about a hundred favors apiece for all the stupid crap he pulled during the war.”

“What about passing on our Crests?” Felix says. “We’re both the last of our lines. If we don’t have children, the Crests end with us.”

“Maybe they should end.” Slyvain reaches out and touches Felix's face, sure and steady like he has the right to, before he lets his hand fall. “I don’t care about passing on that legacy. Do you?”

Felix blinks. “Honestly? No. I don’t care at all.”

Sylvain’s face splits in a grin. “Okay, then. If everything is settled, would you care to take me home?”

Felix looks him up and down, this man who is both like and unlike the boy he chased after so long ago. He knows Sylvain like he knows no one else, in all of his glory and all of his flaws.

And still, Felix wants to lay him down in a bed and cover him in flowers. He wants to lie beside him and listen to his heartbeat until he can finally breathe, can finally believe that the war is over and that they’ve won.

Felix offers him a hand.

Sylvain takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> what's up i beat this game a week or two ago and these two absolutely ruined me


End file.
